"Those who can't do, teach. But what about those who can't teach?"
-Unknown, September 2005.
These leaves fall fast on brick pavers loose under tire of bike and foot of man. These leaves, orangish yellow and crunchy to the touch, fall fast from the myriad gingko trees now stripped of stinking, overripe gingko nuts collected by elderly married women and their doting husbands, in tow. These leaves, like yellow horseshoes caught underneath the heavy weight of the air, twist and turn in a beautiful dance down to the recently painted bike path that edges the sidewalk. I twist, too, as they do.
It is fall in Seoul, and there is simply not a better season here. Winter, with its harsh Siberian wind and dearth of snow is simply painful and summer, with its excessive heat and humidity making one feel all the while that they are trapped somewhere between a high school locker room and the depths of Hell, have nothing to offer. Spring, brings with it condolences and green but lacks the thrilling pre-winter chills and breezes of autumn. These yellow leaves will only be in abundance for this short two month season until they are stripped away and replaced only by absence and heartbreak.
Yet, I ride home, unaware. Working up a sweat on my bike, my head fills with the haze of exercise. I come home, empty-handed and tired, to a humid, hot apartment that smells vaguely of a trash can that needs emptying. I open the window. Somewhere, a cat is in heat and is yelping and meowing through my window screen. The ridiculous and out of place dog that lives next door to me barks in response, as if echoing my own disdain towards the stupid feral cat.
With only one light on to cast shadows about my room, I lay in bed and ponder my present and future. What about my past? That old adversary, that troublesome wretch, that old unkillable bastard that so haunted me...what about it?
Leave those questions to the scholars and philosophers. I will trouble myself no more with them.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
The playground, one year later
It's on a night like the one before, but at a different time in my life. After we get a drink, I suggest something I've done before, but something she has no idea about. We should go for a walk.
It was a little less than one year ago that I took this same walk with a different person. We roamed awkwardly through those apartments stumbling through conversations and learning about each other. This time, with a common language, I can learn more in one night than I did in 5 months before. But is this progress? Or just sensory overload?
We head through the same gate and up the same street. Cognizant of repeating myself, I steer us in a different destination and we sip our drinks as we swing.
My mind thinks back to asking if she believed in UFOs, and her asking me if I believed in ghosts. She actually mentioned that to me not too long ago. It's so hard to believe she even understood what I said half the time that the shock of her remembering really broke my heart when she said it. But regardless, we probably won't talk again.
This time, after swinging, we walk past the sidewalk and look down under the apartment buildings. There are dark crypts under each one, and with the weak light of our cellphones we don't dare enter. Both swearing to acquire flashlights and return, we press on to the next playground and climb the jungle gym. Again, I am astonished by how much ground we can cover talking in this language. There's no time to parse out anything, no time to bite my lip as I strain to make my point known, no mystery; I am talking with my twin.
We climb down off the dangerous apparatus and I take her to the original playground (of course she has no idea that this is what it in fact is); the one I went to one year ago. And I see the swings and weird slides and all the apartments looking down on us. But instead of swinging and talking about aliens and space, we see-saw and laugh with each other. Laughing is easy when you share a common language. We finish our beer and feel good and laugh. But I couldn't tell you what we talked about. I just know it wasn't aliens and space and ghosts. Why can't I remember?
We walk on to a grassy field that I didn't know about until more recently, behind this decrepit shopping center sort of thing but absolutely beautiful in its isolation. We lay on the wet grass, attacked by mosquitoes, but happy to lay together and look up at the few stars visible in the smog ridden night sky. I have come to find out she makes an excellent mosquito repellent; they seem far more drawn to her than me. We talk some more, and I strangely can't remember the content.
Then we depart, together, hand in hand (like before!) and into a world that is still uncertain. My feet are so happy to retrace their steps, but what do they want from the person walking next to them?
I heard the city is going to demolish those old apartments and put up newer, taller, shinier ones in their place. And people will then live and work and trample on the dust of the old playgrounds and my skeletons and memories in the name of progress.
It was a little less than one year ago that I took this same walk with a different person. We roamed awkwardly through those apartments stumbling through conversations and learning about each other. This time, with a common language, I can learn more in one night than I did in 5 months before. But is this progress? Or just sensory overload?
We head through the same gate and up the same street. Cognizant of repeating myself, I steer us in a different destination and we sip our drinks as we swing.
My mind thinks back to asking if she believed in UFOs, and her asking me if I believed in ghosts. She actually mentioned that to me not too long ago. It's so hard to believe she even understood what I said half the time that the shock of her remembering really broke my heart when she said it. But regardless, we probably won't talk again.
This time, after swinging, we walk past the sidewalk and look down under the apartment buildings. There are dark crypts under each one, and with the weak light of our cellphones we don't dare enter. Both swearing to acquire flashlights and return, we press on to the next playground and climb the jungle gym. Again, I am astonished by how much ground we can cover talking in this language. There's no time to parse out anything, no time to bite my lip as I strain to make my point known, no mystery; I am talking with my twin.
We climb down off the dangerous apparatus and I take her to the original playground (of course she has no idea that this is what it in fact is); the one I went to one year ago. And I see the swings and weird slides and all the apartments looking down on us. But instead of swinging and talking about aliens and space, we see-saw and laugh with each other. Laughing is easy when you share a common language. We finish our beer and feel good and laugh. But I couldn't tell you what we talked about. I just know it wasn't aliens and space and ghosts. Why can't I remember?
We walk on to a grassy field that I didn't know about until more recently, behind this decrepit shopping center sort of thing but absolutely beautiful in its isolation. We lay on the wet grass, attacked by mosquitoes, but happy to lay together and look up at the few stars visible in the smog ridden night sky. I have come to find out she makes an excellent mosquito repellent; they seem far more drawn to her than me. We talk some more, and I strangely can't remember the content.
Then we depart, together, hand in hand (like before!) and into a world that is still uncertain. My feet are so happy to retrace their steps, but what do they want from the person walking next to them?
I heard the city is going to demolish those old apartments and put up newer, taller, shinier ones in their place. And people will then live and work and trample on the dust of the old playgrounds and my skeletons and memories in the name of progress.
We came back to have something
I weave, deftly, headphones pushed into my ears clogged with wax and music, past stray cats and parked cars and moving cars, barely squeaking past a taxi as it approaches my left side. I am here, and I am heading back to an isolated mosquito infested apartment in another neighborhood in another district in another time zone from my memories and my friends. I am here, and I am still happy, but I am stagnant.
Walking into my apartment, my nose is dripping from the cold. I quickly push my bike inside to avoid the mosquitoes who will most certainly try to infiltrate and destroy me while I sleep; they feed on my blood and breed in my shower drain, setting up some kind of microcosmic ecosystem they will possibly be able to sustain throughout the freezing winter and far past their normal life span. The sound of them buzzing in my ear as I sleep is almost as loud as as the wailing choir that follows me around "what now what now what now what now?" I yearn to answer, but I am as of yet unable to do so.
I curse my nose, and the headphone cable that gets caught around my neck as I try to loosen my scarf, and the door lock that won't shut without my prodding and the bike hitting my refrigerator as I barge in and myself for not doing something of interest tonight. Each night, could it be so precious, could it be so valuable that I would throw it away for so little? God, even the albums I am so familiar with sound so different tonight...
There is the past and there is the future, but what of the present? I have tried the past and it got me nowhere. I don't find much more solace in the future. So what about now? What will I find if I truly invest myself in what I am surrounded in? Will I be happy with what I find? Or is this haze all I have left? My brain aches at the thought of it. For now, sleep and the knowledge that maybe such questions can be pondered tomorrow is all there is.
Walking into my apartment, my nose is dripping from the cold. I quickly push my bike inside to avoid the mosquitoes who will most certainly try to infiltrate and destroy me while I sleep; they feed on my blood and breed in my shower drain, setting up some kind of microcosmic ecosystem they will possibly be able to sustain throughout the freezing winter and far past their normal life span. The sound of them buzzing in my ear as I sleep is almost as loud as as the wailing choir that follows me around "what now what now what now what now?" I yearn to answer, but I am as of yet unable to do so.
I curse my nose, and the headphone cable that gets caught around my neck as I try to loosen my scarf, and the door lock that won't shut without my prodding and the bike hitting my refrigerator as I barge in and myself for not doing something of interest tonight. Each night, could it be so precious, could it be so valuable that I would throw it away for so little? God, even the albums I am so familiar with sound so different tonight...
There is the past and there is the future, but what of the present? I have tried the past and it got me nowhere. I don't find much more solace in the future. So what about now? What will I find if I truly invest myself in what I am surrounded in? Will I be happy with what I find? Or is this haze all I have left? My brain aches at the thought of it. For now, sleep and the knowledge that maybe such questions can be pondered tomorrow is all there is.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Where did the good guys go?
Today was my first day back at POLY, which deserves an entry all its own. I should start by saying how I've been feeling being back in Korea.
I'm in love. With the country I mean. It's been a total rebirth over here for me. Every meal, every girl on the street, every labored conversation in Korean, every mountain I see through the smog in the distance is a reminder of why I came here and how happy I am to be back. And after a few days, I know why it is so different.
The last time I came here, it was my first international foray. I viewed it as a new experience that I had to have; to catch up to everyone else, to stop feeling like I was wasting my life, to DO SOMETHING. If that's all it was to me, well then, it was a temporary experience. I frankly would have rather been in Japan, a place I thought had more cachet. It was a waystation on the road to a new me. And for that, I almost never completely invested myself in it. I can consciously remember having thoughts like "well, it's okay but..." I can barely believe I ever took that attitude over here. At the same time, I was consciously hoping for a change in myself. I was so unhappy with my life at the time and still obsessed with my past (a quick glance at my journal entries from that time will excruciatingly illustrate that if one were so possessed) that I was just waiting to change who I was. And after a few months in Korea, I remember thinking, "well, I'm still me." I thought maybe because I wanted the change explicitly, that it could never happen. And after a few more months, once I had stopped actively searching for it, I realized that I had changed. Since that point, I have been a different person: a better, healthier person who I am still getting to know. But it was a slow change, and once it was done, I then felt, well, I'm done here in Korea, what's left for me? I have journal posts one could read that also illustrate this perspective, if one were so inclined of course.
But upon leaving, literally after 2 weeks out of the country, I realized that part of the new me was Korea. Everything I loved about the country, I could not find elsewhere (so far). And so I fantasized and planned and kept my weird memories of the beauty of this place, and I packed them away until I could use them again. I slowly realized that maybe, for now, I could only use them here. So I came back.
And I came here with new eyes. It is with these eyes that I walk the streets, in awe of this culture and place; this land that I have chosen, again, to make my home. To be proud of. To be part of. And it is that I have made this choice, again, that makes all the difference. May I never forget this awe and this feeling. And may I never be numb again.
I'm in love. With the country I mean. It's been a total rebirth over here for me. Every meal, every girl on the street, every labored conversation in Korean, every mountain I see through the smog in the distance is a reminder of why I came here and how happy I am to be back. And after a few days, I know why it is so different.
The last time I came here, it was my first international foray. I viewed it as a new experience that I had to have; to catch up to everyone else, to stop feeling like I was wasting my life, to DO SOMETHING. If that's all it was to me, well then, it was a temporary experience. I frankly would have rather been in Japan, a place I thought had more cachet. It was a waystation on the road to a new me. And for that, I almost never completely invested myself in it. I can consciously remember having thoughts like "well, it's okay but..." I can barely believe I ever took that attitude over here. At the same time, I was consciously hoping for a change in myself. I was so unhappy with my life at the time and still obsessed with my past (a quick glance at my journal entries from that time will excruciatingly illustrate that if one were so possessed) that I was just waiting to change who I was. And after a few months in Korea, I remember thinking, "well, I'm still me." I thought maybe because I wanted the change explicitly, that it could never happen. And after a few more months, once I had stopped actively searching for it, I realized that I had changed. Since that point, I have been a different person: a better, healthier person who I am still getting to know. But it was a slow change, and once it was done, I then felt, well, I'm done here in Korea, what's left for me? I have journal posts one could read that also illustrate this perspective, if one were so inclined of course.
But upon leaving, literally after 2 weeks out of the country, I realized that part of the new me was Korea. Everything I loved about the country, I could not find elsewhere (so far). And so I fantasized and planned and kept my weird memories of the beauty of this place, and I packed them away until I could use them again. I slowly realized that maybe, for now, I could only use them here. So I came back.
And I came here with new eyes. It is with these eyes that I walk the streets, in awe of this culture and place; this land that I have chosen, again, to make my home. To be proud of. To be part of. And it is that I have made this choice, again, that makes all the difference. May I never forget this awe and this feeling. And may I never be numb again.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Observations after 3 days Vol. 1
Some of these are re-realizations, others are new found. All are PROFOUND.
Korean coffee is strong, and delicious.
When I drink caffeine, I get really positive and productive.
Korean women are absolutely gorgeous.
I love the way Korean women greet you when you enter a business establishment; it's so cute and upbeat.
Korean food is so much better than I ever remembered. Ramyun here is much spicier than what I used to make at home.
Seoul is so HUMID.
Going out and doing things in a foreign language is thrilling, slightly anxiety-inducing and intellectually stimulating.
I don't like white people who aren't from my school.
Having a cell phone with a Korean to English dictionary is incredibly awesome.
Studying Korean makes me happy. Coffee makes me want to do it more.
I'm incredibly pleased to be back here.
Korean coffee is strong, and delicious.
When I drink caffeine, I get really positive and productive.
Korean women are absolutely gorgeous.
I love the way Korean women greet you when you enter a business establishment; it's so cute and upbeat.
Korean food is so much better than I ever remembered. Ramyun here is much spicier than what I used to make at home.
Seoul is so HUMID.
Going out and doing things in a foreign language is thrilling, slightly anxiety-inducing and intellectually stimulating.
I don't like white people who aren't from my school.
Having a cell phone with a Korean to English dictionary is incredibly awesome.
Studying Korean makes me happy. Coffee makes me want to do it more.
I'm incredibly pleased to be back here.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
On being back
I'm definitely having culture shock.
I don't remember even having this the first time. There's people all over the street. I swear, they are looking at me. Foreigner, they think. I forgot what this feels like; this constant appraisal by strangers.
The subway is wonderful, I missed it. But I wish people would stop staring. I forgot my passport, now I can't get a cell phone. Better to just go home. Nothing else to do.
People are saying things I can't understand. I never could before, but I was just used to it. Right now, I find it nervewracking. The guy in the Family Mart says something. Why did he just address me? He knows I can't understand. It was totally unnecessary. He was probably saying the equivalent of "what do you need?" I just told him I'm okay. I hope that made sense in that context.
Shit, it is humid. Summer in Seoul is 90% humidity every day. It mixes with the pollution and your skin feels dirty all the time. I want fall.
I walk into the kimbap place and they just STARE. I sit down to order and nobody brings over an order card. They just watch me scan the menu on the wall, thinking "like this asshole knows what he's reading." I call for their attention and order.
Walking down the street, the city looks beautiful. It's cloudy and sticky and hot and congested, but I missed this place so much. It's just going to take a little getting used to, that's all.
I don't remember even having this the first time. There's people all over the street. I swear, they are looking at me. Foreigner, they think. I forgot what this feels like; this constant appraisal by strangers.
The subway is wonderful, I missed it. But I wish people would stop staring. I forgot my passport, now I can't get a cell phone. Better to just go home. Nothing else to do.
People are saying things I can't understand. I never could before, but I was just used to it. Right now, I find it nervewracking. The guy in the Family Mart says something. Why did he just address me? He knows I can't understand. It was totally unnecessary. He was probably saying the equivalent of "what do you need?" I just told him I'm okay. I hope that made sense in that context.
Shit, it is humid. Summer in Seoul is 90% humidity every day. It mixes with the pollution and your skin feels dirty all the time. I want fall.
I walk into the kimbap place and they just STARE. I sit down to order and nobody brings over an order card. They just watch me scan the menu on the wall, thinking "like this asshole knows what he's reading." I call for their attention and order.
Walking down the street, the city looks beautiful. It's cloudy and sticky and hot and congested, but I missed this place so much. It's just going to take a little getting used to, that's all.
The wrong kind of foreigner
I arrived back in Seoul and pulled my massive luggage out into the bus terminal. I was giddy with excitement and lack of sleep. I was roughly 36 hours with only 6 hours of sleep. It was intense.
I stepped outside and it was humid. Damn, I forgot how humid this country is. I bought my bus ticket and happened upon some other foreigners. I was speaking to a married couple coming over on the plane for their first year of teaching. The woman was a social studies middle school teacher and they were both intelligent and pleasant. They put me in a good mood.
A bearded man had some questions about the bus. Yes, he was in the right place I told him. He was working for CDI, a large school my friend Andrew worked for and the place that is responsible for all this quarantine business. He seemed nice. Another whitey approached, also quite kind. After we boarded the bus, I noticed there were 4 other white people on the bus with me. Then, they became the kind of foreigner I don't like.
They started conversing (loudly) in English. The conversation that follows was between 3 of them, but has been edited to flow better.
Why did you come to Korea?
Oh, you know, I figured I graduated, I've got nothing else to do why not?
You an Ohio State fan?
You know it.
(meaningless sports banter for at least 10 minutes-favorite teams, what to watch etc)
Do you speak any Korean?
No, man just annyong haseyo.
Have you heard about Itaewon?
Yeah, it sounds like I could watch some games there.
During all this, the older Korean gentleman next to me has a rather annoyed look on his face that I recognize. It is the same look on my face. It says, "who are these intruders?"
I fell asleep quickly due to exhaustion and because of the intense rush hour traffic, we had barely moved.
I stepped outside and it was humid. Damn, I forgot how humid this country is. I bought my bus ticket and happened upon some other foreigners. I was speaking to a married couple coming over on the plane for their first year of teaching. The woman was a social studies middle school teacher and they were both intelligent and pleasant. They put me in a good mood.
A bearded man had some questions about the bus. Yes, he was in the right place I told him. He was working for CDI, a large school my friend Andrew worked for and the place that is responsible for all this quarantine business. He seemed nice. Another whitey approached, also quite kind. After we boarded the bus, I noticed there were 4 other white people on the bus with me. Then, they became the kind of foreigner I don't like.
They started conversing (loudly) in English. The conversation that follows was between 3 of them, but has been edited to flow better.
Why did you come to Korea?
Oh, you know, I figured I graduated, I've got nothing else to do why not?
You an Ohio State fan?
You know it.
(meaningless sports banter for at least 10 minutes-favorite teams, what to watch etc)
Do you speak any Korean?
No, man just annyong haseyo.
Have you heard about Itaewon?
Yeah, it sounds like I could watch some games there.
During all this, the older Korean gentleman next to me has a rather annoyed look on his face that I recognize. It is the same look on my face. It says, "who are these intruders?"
I fell asleep quickly due to exhaustion and because of the intense rush hour traffic, we had barely moved.
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